Climbing
by Jimmy the Gothic Egg
Summary: It's the lie we're going to buy.


_It's the truth  
We're gonna lose  
And it's the light  
We're gonna find_

Under the sun  
Below in the dust  
You and I, full of lust

_All that I see  
All the glory to me  
I know it will never be  
We know it could never be_

—**Persephone's Bees—Climbing**

_Climbing_

It is beneath the crescent moon that they meet.

It is but a sliver of soft light, outweighed by the stars around it. The light cast down is hardly any at all, but the two make careful headway within the woods, miles from where they should (even farther from home, which is never where they are), but they travel with determinacy set aside for those with a mission of the gravest importance.

She arrives first. The journey did not seem to take long at all, but now that she is there, her feet ache, and she rests, waiting beneath the disappearing moon for the one she needs.

He comes what seems like hours later. He looks tired and weary. They greet wordlessly, and she runs a soft hand across his face. It isn't the scar she is examining (to make sure he's real, because so many times does this seem like a dream), but the bags beneath his eyes, the tired look, the restless feeling, as if he is still searching (not anymore though, because he has found something he can find content in, and even then it is just out of reach, even if he can touch it for hours on end.)

She does not ask questions. She understands already, because she feels just as tired. There is so much she can do—for both of them, for anyone—but she cannot hold down this feeling without fear (of losing it, of getting caught, of forgetting what's important to the word and only remembering what's important o her.)

They make quick work capturing the moments. Sleepless nights await them, but right now they can find solace in each other's arms, comfort in deep kisses, warmth as they move as one. Sweet sentiments are whispered (breathlessly as they see an entire future in each other, worlds they can be happy in—together) that have no meaning but at that moment. They know their futures, know their places, and they know there is nothing for them, just the consolation prize, thanks for playing, try again next life. Happiness—true happiness—they cannot perceive without each other, but they think they can find it here, in the woods, beneath a weary moon.

They are dirty now, ragged children who fight the cold off wrapped around each other. No one would give them a second glance (just more refugees, pay them no mind), and this is how they speak of running away. More false promises, because both know they are forever stuck in the worlds they have chosen, and they are willing to accept that. They speak of destiny, of lives they will never have, of things (people, children, curtains, dinners for two) they will never hold.

The moon falls beneath the treetops, and the slightest rays of morning sun peek over to catch the couple. Quickly (with a kiss that could be their last, and it means everything to them just to get that one goodbye, because all their goodbyes are forever, just in case) they depart, running through the path they've made, and the journey seems longer and—even in the brightening dawn—darker.

They return to their posts (faithful, ever-vigilant) and play their roles (mother, brother, caretaker, slave) until the next time they meet. This time, it is not in kisses and love and the heat of another, but in fire and rage as cold as ice (and both will split you in two.) She avoids his eye, focuses on another goal, but he is forced to intervene (to conquer, to win, all because we want you to) and they are striking each other. Anger is brittle in her mind (not for him, because it isn't him, just what they imagine he is), and he cannot hold back his attacks (because she can take it, he knows she can, and if she wanted, he'd be dead by now.)

And that night he returns, hoping she will be there (he can never be sure, never knows if she is just taking longer, or if she no longer has the trail, or if she just forgot, or if she can't get away, or, or, or…) It seems forever he waits, until the sun threatens the night sky with its brilliance, and he stands to leave.

She stumbles through the foliage like a lost child, reaching out to him. She'd traveled all night, broken, exhausted (it hurts so much, but not as much as missing you), and he holds her as she cries, saying she can't do this, be his friend and enemy and lover, and he wants to tell her so many things. He wants to say things will get better (for them alone, and then they'd feel too horrible to be happy), they will make it (until one of them is killed, or found out, and there are so many mistakes they can make), and they can make it together, after the war is over (if it ever is, because if either side wins, there will still be fighting.)

They don't leave as the sun rises, instead sitting beneath it and wondering which promises they can keep. Just to be safe, they tell each other lies and hopes and dreams until they are tired.

Too tired to repeat their promises (lies.)

Too tired to want more than this (a lover that understands.)

Too tired to be anything else than what they are (traitors and betrayers and heart-breakers.)

And it's as if they can see each other for the first time in the bright daylight, and they finally understand their choices. They know what they want to be.

Someone important.

Someone important to you.

And they stand. And they plan. And they leave. And even if they know the truth, they hold fast upon the lies.


End file.
